I met a young man yesterday, age of 19, while waiting for the red to turn to green. He screamed at me with threats of hell, a gust of wind at my neck. Young man, I turned, why are you yelling? What are you? Who are you? That is when he gave me this. That is when he asked my name. That is when he asked me what I believed. And I told him I admired him, young man, age of 19, for believing in something, which was better than nothing. But...Could he please stop yelling? Could he please stop threatening? The world was swirling. I saw the green, and ran far far away...The ways to communicate are infinite.
The possibilities of belief are immense.
How do we choose to communicate?
Why do we choose to believe?
Every foot pounding pavement has a story.
This is what I believe.
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